


The Lady of Winterfell

by Alwaystomyself



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alwaystomyself/pseuds/Alwaystomyself
Summary: “Lady Sansa” he greets her softly.She wants to claw his eyes out.“Jon” she answers stiffly “long time no see”.She wants to unleash the storm, to have him feel the disaster and loss he made her feel. Except it isn`t. Because even though he looks like the man she grew up with, she knows he isn`t. This isn’t the Jon she knew as a child, this isn`t the man that helped her take the north back from the Boltons. He`s the Dragon Queen`s attack dog now. But she`s a wolf. All of Starks are, and wolves don`t play well with dogs.





	1. Falling Snow.

The snow falls slowly over the corpse. It`s not a Winter`s snow, just some lonely snowflakes, early messengers of the real cold that`s to come.

 _We`ll need to open the shelters as soon as possible_ Sansa makes a note. Maybe she`ll renovate some warehouses and turn them into free clinics as well. There´ll be no one left behind.

 _The pack survives_.

She almost smiles.

 _Real winter is finally here_.

She doesn`t, though and walks closer to the body.

Brienne walks with her, shivering despite her thick jacket and gloves. She still isn´t used to the cold. 

“He was found about a half hour ago” Brienne informs her “he had some papers, but the cops are still tracking his mum. He wasn`t from around”.

_He was a Southerner._

“Long way to come just to die” Sansa says.

Brienne doesn´t answer.

Sansa crouches next to the kid. He is young, skinny as can be and almost as pale as the snow that’s slowly tucking him into nothingness. He was a handsome boy, the body before her. He had pitch dark hair and hazel eyes with thick lashes, if she`d been younger or more innocent, Sansa was sure she would`ve daydreamed about those eyes and lashes. But she wasn`t that young or naive. And all she sees now is a boy of sixteen maybe eighteen, with a dirty pallor to his skin, sunken cheeks and swollen, unseeing, forever opened eyes. Looking at hidden stars, which witnessed yet another lonely death.

_He looks as young as Rickon._

Above her the night clouds watch, burying the boy before his mother has a chance to say goodbye. An anonymous funeral for a no body’s death. Easily hidden, easily forgotten.

Sansa takes note of the green staining his thin lips and the needle marks on his left arm.

_Fucking Cunt._

She turns and walks away, to talk to the cops already closing down the street and shooing the curious onlookers.

“Make sure his family is found and that he has a proper burial” she asks the fat, old cop in charge. She has seen him somewhere. Maybe at one of her Father´s balls for the police. Maybe at some funeral. She doesn´t remember his name well, but does remember his last name.

Poole.

Like her childhood best friend.

She wonders if they´re related.

She is taller than him, but not by much, still the man doesn`t seem annoyed talking to her, like he is better than her. He shivers in the cold, despite his big, bulky jacket. Sansa doesn’t, even if she only has a thin coat. That`s why he respects her, why they all do. She was born for the cold harsh winter, she wad raised for it, she doesn`t fear the cold. She is the fucking Winter.

“Sure thing m`Lady” he answers with a soft smile “we`ll keep you on the loop. Anything you want”.

“Thank you, for calling me and for that as well” she smiles sadly at him “don´t hesitate to call me if there´s anything you need”.

The man smiles back and the goes to talk with one of the younger officers as Sansa steps away.

Brienne meets her at the car.

“Call Tyrion Lannister please” she asks her “tell him I want a word with the Targaryen Queen tonight”.

*

 She opens the door slowly, ready to see him standing there with his usual face, looking at her the way he did all those years ago, before anything really happened. Before she became who she was meant to be. She didn´t expect him, she honestly wanted Tyrion or the woman. Anyone but him.

Her living room greets her. Tall windows, the dark city skyline behind them and the soft muffled lights reflecting on the black marble floor. Her lonely piano, the modern fireplace, not lit for years, the leather couches and the stairs that lead to the rest of the penthouse. The lights are dimly lit, but he`s not anywhere to be found.

For a moment Sansa thinks he might`ve not been there, that it´s all her imagination. But light falls from the stairs and she knows exactly where he is. She lets her coat on the coat hangar and her wet shoes. She climbs the stairs barefooted, calming herself.

_Don`t show any weakness._

_Don`t let him touch him._

She walks into Eddard`s navy and gray room, the light from his animals lantern still glowing strong. She looks instantly into his bed. It´s empty. He stands near the window, holding Eddard to his chest, humming an old song she remembers her Father sang to all of them. Eddard coos at him, half asleep half awake.

_You couldn´t help it, could you?_

_Asshole_.

He turns away from the pictures of the family she has managed to take and collect and looks at her.

“Lady Sansa” he greets her softly.

She wants to claw his eyes out.

“Jon” she answers stiffly “long time no see”.

She wants to unleash the storm, to have him feel the disaster and loss he made her feel. But she doesn`t, because Eddard is there and Jon has him in his arms and in some way, the picture presented to her in that moment seems perfect, complete. Except it isn`t. Because even though he looks like the man she grew up with, she knows he isn`t. She feels a darker, deeper anger that doesn`t flow naturally of her. She isn`t a volcano or a storm, she is the cold. She is cruel and powerful and she strikes with elegance and restraint. She is announced and known, and yet there`s nothing people can do to stop her.

This isn’t the Jon she knew as a child, this isn`t the man that helped her take the north back from the Boltons. He`s the Dragon Queen`s attack dog now. But she`s a wolf. All of Starks are, and wolves don`t play well with dogs.

Both of them realize it though, how the words they just shared now are the same as those they said a lifetime ago.

He doesn`t smile and Sansa doesn`t either. They just stand there, in silence while the snow falls behind them. Sansa watches him, looking for changes, but all seems to still be there. His hair is still long, but he has it in a bun, clear from his face. She can still see scars over his left eye, and her eyes go to his left hear, still missing a small piece. He`s tanner than before and leaner, still strong, his training so imbedded into his routine Sansa doesn`t think he`ll ever stop being part of the Watch. Even after everything they did to him. She knows him well enough to know that, and yet it`s a stranger that stands before her. What really surprises her is the  thick strong beard. It covers half his face, effectively hiding his mouth and a small scar above his lip that Sansa knows like the back of her hand.

She gave it to him after all.

“You asked for a meeting” he says in a hushed voice.

_Yes, but not with you._

“Could you please leave my son in his crib” there`s no malice or anger in her voice, she isn`t pleading either. She`s calmly commanding him.

He doesn`t seem to mind.

He walks back and gently places Ned back in his bed, tucking him in and stands by her side. She walks to the light and turns it off, leaving Jon. Darkness engulfs them in a second, but she`s still able to see her son, alone in his bed. She starts to sing him the same songs her mother sung her. The same lullabies another Eddard sang to both of them twenty years ago. Out there, sinking in a different darkness there`s a mother that won`t get to sing for her son. She won’t get to rock him back to sleep. Her son has fallen into a slumber that will forever part them.

She finishes her song and walks to the door. Jon says nothing.

She leads him silently to her study and closes the door behind them. She then turns to him.

He`s turned to the windows, his back to her and his figure clashing with the softly illuminated snow that falls silently outside. He seems to be a negative of another picture. The image before her a glimpse into another reality, another world, another play with them as leads, always them.

A peek at what could`ve been.

The snow still falls, dancing with the wind, not caring about the what could`ve been they ambient for her.

“We have a problem”.

He waits for her to elaborate.

The boy`s face, his unblinking eyes and his broken expression appear in front of her. Outside, somewhere, hundreds of snowflakes cover up an entire life, burying it away from the prying eyes of life. She forgot to ask for his name.

“A boy overdosed tonight” she explains to him.

He doesn`t turn to face her.

She can almost hear him.

_People overdose every day._

“He had needle marks and green lips” she continues.

Then he turns to her.

His eyes fixate on hers.

_He hopes I`m lying._

“So I would like to know, when, exactly did your Queen broke the peace and started selling Wildfire in Northern territory”.

He nods and she would swear he looks a little stunned at the information. But she doesn`t know him anymore, so she swears nothing.

“I`ll arrange a meeting” he tells her.

Sansa nods.

Before he leaves the study she calls to him.

“Jon” she says softly, like she used to “I will not have you near him again. Next time I want to meet with Tyrion”.

He doesn`t turn to her.

She didn`t expect him to.

He whispers her name in the same way she did, agrees, defeated and then leaves.

Silence surrounds her and she sighs loudly. Words are left unspoken, glances are left unshared and yet, both walkaway knowing exactly what would`ve been said, in another world, a different reality, another play.

Sansa sighs. 

She misses the cold of the snow falling over her.


	2. Swing the sword.

* * *

A lifetime ago.

_“Jon” she says to him, almost startled to see a familiar face “long time no see”._

_He walks to her, like he wants to hug her, but stops himself midway. He smiles at her, though. Her words seemingly reminding them both of simpler times, when they were still children._

_Outside, winds blow and leafs fly, crashing against each other. Sansa looks at them for a moment and wonders if sometimes they find other leafs that grew from the same tree, in the hell that is nature and time, just like Jon and her seem to have._

_“I actually saw you, you know” he tells her “when Father died, I saw you on the news, you were with them. He was standing next to you”._

_Sansa remembers. It was her Father`s service. The one the Lannister made. He`s talking about them._

He`s talking about Joffrey.

_He realizes his mistake immediately._

_“And I saw you on your wedding day as well. But you weren`t you really. You had dark hair and where wearing a pink dress I think” he continues fast, like if he doesn`t hurry up she might resent him for speaking “I remember recognizing you and turning to say I knew you, but I was undercover so…”_

So the words died in your mouth, _Sansa thinks._

_She smiles, a sad smile as always._

_Jon notices._

_He looks very different from how she remembered him. His hair is very long, not at all like the military cut he had the first time he visited them after enrolling himself on the army. He has a little stubble and an ugly scar on his left eye. He`s a little taller than she remembers and a lot bulkier. His stubble hides a trail of green bruises on his jaw. Somebody landed a good punch on him, but his hands are sporting much worse bruising. He punched back. Sansa didn`t remember Jon punching anybody back at Winterfell._

He`s a different person now.

_So is she._

_“What are you doing here Jon?”_

_He looks at her like she just asked him how come Santa doesn’t visit anymore._

_Jon locks his eyes on her._

_“I`m here to help you”._

*

Sansa stares at the man.

He's older than her by at least a decade. His beard is salt and pepper and wrinkles surround his eyes. He has long greasy hair tucked back and wears golden rings. She sees a wolf, a tower and an arrow, small emblems, hidden, he knows he´s not allowed to wear them. He looks a lot like her Father, or even King Robert. She wonders which men he's more alike.

Sadly, she has a pretty good guess.

"Do you have any children, Mister Garrick?"

He looks at her.

His black beady eyes gleam for a moment. She knows what is going through his mind. He´s calculating the risk, measuring her up. She knows what he's about to do.

Sansa sighs silently. She has half a mind to stop him.

"I actually do my Lady" he says, thick accent and all "I have two boys, they live with their mothers. I don’t see them much".

She thinks of Eddard, sleeping in his little crib. How he doesn't see his father much either.

Soft, grey eyes look at her, tiny hands reach out to her. Muffled giggles as he hides his face from her, soft breaths as he sleeps in her arms.

Her perfect little baby boy.

_Maybe I should give him a chance._

"I have a son myself" she explains to him, voice soft and kind. She's decided to hope, otherwise what's the point of everything. She´ll give this man a chance. He´s north, like her, and the north remembers not only the bad, but the good as well.

“And I love him with all my heart and soul. Yesterday I saw another boy, young one, like my little brother was. He had died on the street, like a dog, he´d overdosed on Wildfire. Now I know people make their own choices and that he chose to die, but I also know that we don´t allow Wildfire north of the Twins, so I need to know, Is there someone selling Wildfire without the Starks knowledge? Is the Queen pushing her drugs over our territory? "

She looks him in the eyes. He looks back for a moment and then his eyes roam over her.

_Please._

_Be better than I can imagine._

_Surprise us all._

_Please._

He smiles to her. His breath stinks of cigarettes and old ale.

"Not that I know of, my Lady".

She can almost count the stains on his yellow teeth. His mocking grin displays them all.

Sansa smiles and stands.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Garrick”.

When she's outside of his small department, Brienne approaches her.

"Find everything you can about him, please. And get me Arya on the phone. I need her to follow him".

"I could do it, Lady Sansa" Sansa smiles at the big, strong, blonde, noble woman.

"I'm sorry Brienne, but you don't really blend in very well with us Northerners".

The woman smiles at her.

"Plus we still have a lot of things to do today”.

*

She´s sitting on the room alone. Her last patient, an elderly man and his wife had just left. She´s still writing on her notes. Getting them ready for free medicine from the clinics free pharmacy.

She hears a knock on the door.

“Come in”.

A young nurse appears.

“There´s someone here to see you, Dr Stark”.

She knows it´s them, she saw them get off their fancy car on the clinic´s parking lot, walk with the commoners and get into the main hall. She has a good view from her consult on the second floor.

“It´s ok Alyssa, let them in, please”.

The nurse smiles and nods.

They appear behind her and close the door.

Sansa doesn´t raise her eyes from her notes. She still has work to do after all.

But she notices both of them, standing like naughty children about to get told off.

She doesn’t mind them in the clinic, they both know that even this south, it's still her territory. They´re intruders and She wolves don’t care much for intruders in their dens.

She waits for them to come to her.

Outside it starts to snow.

Neither of them are dressed for that. She isn’t really prepared either, boots, pants and a jacket over her coat, but Starks don’t notice the cold. They have ice blood running through their veins. They have been here since the dawn of time and will be after. Weather can’t break them, not when it’s a part of them.

She smiles at Tyrion.

"You look good" she tells him. Her notes still out "I would say winter suits you, but I know how you hate the cold".

"My lady, there is not a soul that would feel the cold in your presence. Your beauty warms the heart and is like a welcoming fire for this lonely man".

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion".

There is a deep silence.

He looks at her intently Sansa smiles.

Tyrion laughs and she joins him happily. Jon just stares at them, brow furrowed. She won´t mind him if Tyrion doesn't.

"I didn't know you still practiced Sansa. I though you would stop seeing patients after the birth of your son and all".

Jon stares at her.

She can almost hear him think.

_So he knew but I didn’t?_

_He was my husband._

_Much more than you ever were._

"I have a license, a degree and an expensive education. I put them to the service of my people, as my Father did. You used to do the same".

"Touché".

“Besides, I help other young mothers, I get Neddie his flu shots with the rest of the children, so he makes friends. Wolves’ prefer to be in packs. Safety in numbers and all”.

She sips her tea and finishes the notes.

"So you suspect there's wildfire being sold in your kingdom" Jon says after a moment.

She looks at him.

"As I told you before. I know someone is pushing your poison up river. I have the corpses in the morgue to prove it. Trust me, I wouldn´t meet with you if I didn’t have to. Your poison leaks into my people and eats away at them, I won´t let it. But by the look of your face, you asked around and there wasn't any plan to expand, no need for fresh victims".

He looks down.

_I knew it._

"So you better find out who’s been stepping out of line and push them back into it fast. Before I do, because our justice doesn’t care about names, and we will make an example of them, no matter how high they are in your chain of command”.

“Now Sansa, don´t go around making empty threats”.

“You know I don´t make empty threats. A man´s word is his honor. In here we care about that”.

Tyrion coughs.

“If I may, our Queen wasn´t aware there was Wildfire being sold up of the Riverlands. We are just as interested as you are in finding out who has being selling it and hiding the revenue from us. She wishes to meet with you, Lady Sansa, to apologize and discuss how to serve justice. Together".

_She wishes to make a show of her power._

Sansa smiles back at him.

“I thought she might want to come up state. I'll meet with your Queen on my party. I´m sure we have things to discuss".

She hands each of them an invitation.

One to _Mr. Tyrion Lannister and distinguished guest_. Another one to _Mrs. Daenerys Targaryen and company._

She smiles at them.

“Hope you´ll come to the fundraiser gentlemen”.

*

They walk into the warehouse alone. Arya is changed, dressed in all black. Sansa knows why.

_Blood stains and all._

She kept her work clothes. Black pants, navy blue shirt and grey jacket. No point in going through all the fuss of changing. She should be heading back to the house soon. It´s Friday, so they have a family dinner. She won´t miss it.

"I tracked down the kids. They're both almost 3 years old. Winter babies".

_So he's a cheater._

"But that's not all they have in common. Both moms have restraining orders against him for domestic violence and are missing several child support checks".

Sansa doesn't say anything.

"But about what we discussed, he went to the docks. Greyjoy men received him. Walked out with what I think is a new shipment of the stuff, don't know though. You said not to interfere".

"Thank you Arya".

"Do you know what you're going to do to him?"

_I´ll do what is needed._

“I´m going to pass judgment, as the Lady of the house”.

Arya stops at the door.

“Will you need help?”

“No, but thank you”.

He´s tided up, sitting on a plastic chair, gaged and with a nasty cut on his forehead, probably from when Arya grabbed him.

“Now, Mr Garrick” Sansa begins “I need you to tell me, who are you buying the drugs from?”

His scared eyes look at her. His sweat mixes with his blood and tears. They haven´t even touched him yet.

Arya removes his gag.

“Please, please I don´t want to die. I´ll do anything”.

His voice is cracking. He shivers like a leaf.

“Come on, Mr Garrick, I need you to tell me. Who´d you buy it from?”

“I can´t, please, they´ll kill me, please, just let me go, I swear”.

Sansa sighs and nods to Arya.

She kicks him in the leg and Sansa hears the deaf sound of bone breaking.

“Come on man, we don´t have all day”.

“You fucking bitch, I swear to god, if I get loose you´re gonna regret that. Fucking cut, I´ll find you, you don´t get to do this to me”.

Arya hits him again, full contact on the face.

Sansa sees the spit and blood fly off to the concreate and leave a stain.

_Pity, all that plastic and for nothing._

“Tell us, who´d you get the drugs from?”

“I aint telling you shit, you fucking cunt, I´ll fucking rip your teeth out, I´ll find you when you´re asleep and I´ll rip you in two. You´ll both regret this, I have people, no one will protect to fucking bitches, no one will miss you, and I´ll use your fucking corpses as whores, have people pay to use you till you have no use no more”.

Arya hits him and knocks him down.

He lays in a pool of blood, sweat and if the smell is correct, piss.

“Did you kill him?”

“Nah, just knocked him out. Do you want me to?”

“Not yet, still need the information. You think you can get it?”

“Sure, but it might take a while”.

“We have time. Dinner is at half past eight”.

It took three quaters of an hour by Sansa´s watch. She witnessed the blood, the screams, the begging and the pain, but in the end, Arya got the name.

They both stand in front of the quivering mess that is Mr. Garrick. Several of his teeth are on the floor, his blood is everywhere, he´s missing nails from his hands and has a few metal nails on his left leg. Sansa is sure his trousers are covered in piss and sweat by now. He´s heaving, crying and trying to get away.

Arya had let him loose for a while.

She´s also covered in blood, but doesn´t seem to mind it. Her hair has some and it stains her cheek. The contrast between her skin and the red is very pretty. She looks like a Victorian woman. Sansa wonders if she looked the same, all that time ago.

“Do you want me to kill him now?"

Sansa takes the gun.

“Mr. Garrick, you are accused of lying to the Lady of your house, withholding information vital to the North and of betrayal of the laws of your house. The punishment for these crimes is death. Any last words?”

“Please, just let me go, you´ll never see me again”.

She shoots him in the head, a tear still rolling down his dirty cheek.

He looks at her scared, frozen, much like the boy she saw the night before.

She kneels before him and closes his eyes.

_Hide your fear from the world. Don´t let it be the last thing it witnesses from you._

The gunshot still resonates on her mind when she gets on the car.

She breaths one time.

Two times.

Three times.

It´s not her first kill.

It won´t be her last.

_The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword._

The words weren´t meant for her, but she learned them anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, just wow, thank you very much to everyone, I never had such a response on a fic on chapter one. Thank you very much!!! Please comment and hope you liked it a lot!!


	3. Understanding.

_She´s sitting on the bed, looking out the window from the room. Not their room, not his room, she won´t let him have that. Just the room. He´s behind her, on the door._

_The room her parents once used is now unrecognizable._

_She´s glad._

_She doesn´t want to see her mother ´s paintings or the family pictures, she doesn´t want to smell her dad´s cologne mixed with the decay Ramsey brings, she won´t hear his voice where she once slept with her siblings._

_“Come on love” he says to her “you know the drill”._

_She does._

_She´ll stand, back facing him. He likes that she´s not able to prepare for each thing. He likes her sobs and cries of surprise. He usually rips the clothes from her, gun on her back. He´ll kick her to the ground, try to force her on the bed. She won´t go._

_She won´t let him take that bed from her._

_She´ll have her pain on the floor. Away from where she was once so safe and happy._

_She will not let him taint her on the bed._

_He´ll get angry. Hit her with his bare hands. Make her bleed just a little. Then he´ll put the gun everywhere it fits. He´ll bite her, kick her some more, sometimes, if he remembers he´ll grab his knife._

_Sansa breaths slow and tries to think about anything, anything but the here and now._

_She still has the bruises, the cuts and the bite marks, from last night._

_Jon asked her about the marks when he first saw her._

_She didn´t lie to him. She didn´t tell him the truth either._

_Sansa doesn´t move from the bed._

_She remebers Jon´s face. His hardened eyes. His silent anger._

No more.

Not today.

_She won’t let any of her pack see her again like that, hurt and scared, defeated._

_She turns to him._

_“Come on, dear, let´s see what you can do”._

_He almost runs to her, happy with the defiance. The slap is loud, it stings against her skin and the pain is sharp. It wakes her up. She notices the letter opener on the bedside table. It has a wolf on the handle, a very intricate carving that does not fit well on the hand. It belonged to her mother. A gift from her father, more pretty than practical._

_It´s not sharp, it´s not a weapon._

_It´s just a gift._

_She looks at Ramsey. He has his gun. She almost doesn’t care. But she does._

_Still._

The North remembers.

_And she remebers her pain very well._

_He seems to sense her defiance._

_He grabs a fistful of her hair and rams her against the night stand. Lost between the deafening pain and the feeling of blood on her forehead, Sansa finds the letter opener. It breaks the skin of her hand when she grasps it too hard. It´s all sharp edges and pain. He grabs her hair again and pulls her up to standing. She sees his cold, almost white eyes._

_She doesn’t wait._

_Sansa rams the letter opener on Ramsey´s chest._

_He spurts blood at her, eyes wide, scared. She doesn´t let him blink. She stabs him again and again. His blood sometimes jumps at her, other times it just trickles, flows._

_She makes it last._

_She knows how to._

_At some moment he falls to the ground, still breathing, still choking on his own blood. She keeps going. She keeps at it until she´s covered in his blood._

_Somehow she feels cleaner than ever._

_She´s not exactly sure when he dies._

_She doesn´t care. Just keeps going._

_Jon gets there eventually. She knows she called him, she just doesn´t remember doing so._

_“Lets go” he says in a strong, calm voice, like he didn´t just find his sister covered in her husband´s blood, his body lying next to her._

*

The cold eyes watch her from the table.

It was a pretty girl, just her age. Pale, pristine. Her lips almost gleam green with the tint of the blood. The morgue ´s light make her look sunken, but Sansa can see the healthy glow on her face. She wasn´t starved to death, a junkie at the end of her line. She was a healthy, strong looking girl. 

They cover her with a white sheet.

Sansa has seen this done before too many times.

She has never seen the sheet cover a child that used to be on a woman´s womb though.

This woman´s lost daughter.

_Dead before she was even alive._

_An addict before she had taken her first breath._

*

The ballroom is completely silent.

They stand proudly on the stage, all eyes on them. All that remains of them.

Bran, wearing a tux for change, looking dashing with his glasses and shaven beard. Arya in a black, backless dress, as beautiful as dangerous and fully hersel. Finally Sansa, in her gray dress and blue neckless, daughter of both her houses.

Rickon is missing and so is Robb.

There are a lot of people missing.

Still, Sansa thinks of how proud their mother would've been, seeing them on that stage. How happy Father would've looked.

She nods at the presenter and takes the microphone.

"First of all, esteemed guests, we would like to thank you all for coming. We know this weather isn't for anyone, and we appreciate the effort you all made to come here, on this winter solstice. A long time ago, before the landing of Aegon the conqueror and the time of the Andals, the First men gathered to celebrate the winter solstice, like we are now. Winter is harsh and unforgiving in these lands. The celebration meant the gathering of the year’s crops for the village and all its members. All of them, whether young or old, men or women, married or widowed, were assured their portions of the food, to ensure everyone´s survival, not only the strongest, but also the weakest, it was for everyone. It was a tradition that had begun with time itself. Later, when the Andals came, they were not prepared for winter. They didn't know how to grow plants in this lands, how to survive the weather, how to work with this land instead of dominating it. The First men knew. They fed and taught the settlers, and the dinner on winter solstice was on their name. And so, a Northerner tradition became one of a whole country, to celebrate not only unity, but kindness as well. Almost a hundred years later, Anton Stark turned that celebration into a chance to give back to the less fortunate. He began housing homeless men, women and children and feeding anyone who came to dine with him on winter solstice. He saw his pack needed him, and he answered the call. Finally, 50 years ago, my late grandmother, philanthropist Lady Lyarra Stark turned the spirit of that dinner into something more. She founded the Stark Foundation, to help the pack for more than one night a year. She saw misery, violence and pain and decided to do something about it. Today, Stark Foundation helps over 2000 people, from homeless, mentally ill, to young mothers, drug addicts and orphans, everyone has a place in our pack. Today, we honor both northern tradition and the noble intentions of our forefathers. Winter is not only cold snows and long nights. It’s also unity and kindness. It’s a pack surviving because they are together, and we take care of our own".

Claps ensue and Sansa smiles.

She raises a glass to her siblings and they all walk down.

The light fades from them and Arya steps next to her.

"Good speech sis" she says "but I have some information you may want about the new chef we heard about".

She opens her mouth to answer and is interrupted by Brienne.

"My lady" she says "she's here and wishes to speak now".

"Of course she does" Arya says “cause we´re hers to command, even in our house. She´s Queen after all".

Sansa smiles again.

"I'll be back soon".

“Don´t tell her your sources Sansa” Bran suddenly says “family only”.

She turns to him, as Arya grabs his chair to move back to their table. She didn´t know he cared about the meeting.

“Will do”.

Brienne walks with her, silently.

“We´ll talk on the private dinner room” she says “tell her security I´ll be waiting alone”.

She nods and walks away.

Sansa sighs.

_Let´s do this._

_For that mother._

_For that daughter_.

Sansa had never met Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen in person. She´d seen pictures of the woman, seen her on television and read her interviews. She is only a couple a years older, but looks much more mature and experienced than Sansa does. She suddenly feels like a child dressing up in her mother´s clothes.

_No wonder he chose her._

A part of her mind thinks like she did when she was fourteen, in love with a blonde monster and watching how he looked at Margaery Tyrell.

She quiets down that part immediately.

She´s not fourteen anymore, and for all the beauty and expertise Daenerys has, she isn´t prepared for the cold.

She doesn´t know it like Starks do.

_Dragons don´t do well in winter._

_Fire can´t beat Ice on it´s territory_.

She´s shorter than Sansa expected. Tan, like Jon, with silver hair cascading down her back. Lean and exotic, she seems made of fire itself as she walks towards her in her shimmering red dress. Fierce blue-violet eyes look at Sansa. She sees how a few men stay at the door. Jon is among them.

She doesn´t look him in the eye.

_This doesn´t concern you._

Brienne closes the door and they are left alone.

“Welcome to the North, Queen Daenerys. We thank you for coming to our Fund raiser for the foundation”.

She smiles, white teeth stare at her.

“Thank you for having me” she answers “but I was told we had more serious things to discuss”.

_The death of innocent mothers and children._

“I´m sure Tyrion told you there is Wildfire being sold in the north”.

“He did”.

She doesn´t let anything on. 

Sansa knows a good player when she sees one.

“I´m also sure you are aware that the Peace signed said no more drugs would be sold on the north”.

“That as well”.

She doesn´t seem bored or angry. She has her arms crossed and Sansa notices her black nails. .She´s wearing her house colors. Black and red.

_Fire and blood._

Daenerys doesn´t seem mad. She doesn´t seem violent or brutal. She doesn´t seem capable of what she´s heard.

Appereances can be deceaving though, and Sansa won´t risk herself or her family unnecesarily.

She treads carefuly. 

“But I have acquired some information that you may not know about the people selling your drugs up here”.

Daenerys eyes light up.

“I was told, from a good source that it´s the Tarly family has been pushing Wildfire through the docks”.

She freezes before her, and Sansa suddenly sees how she can be as young as Robb was.

_Young and burdened._

She knows the feeling.

“That can´t be”.

“I know”.

_You killed all of them after all._

She sees the thoughts start to swirl in her head. Calculations, threats, plans to be executed.

“I tell you this, so that you know that we have shared interest in stopping whoever is behind this”.

Daenerys nods, beginning to recompose herself.

“We do, Lady Sansa. I would like very much to be in touch, and I assure you we will deal with this”.

_There´s the Queen._

_There´s a formidable woman._

She turns around and walks to the door. Only to stop, standing in front of it, doing nothing.

“Can I ask why you don´t allow any drugs on the North?”

Daenerys asks, voice soft.

Completely different woman now.

_Amour is down._

Sansa sighs.

_So he hasn´t told you._

“Before all of this, before both your predecessors, King Aerys and King Robert, the Stark family wasn´t involved in any of this. They were clean, and both men dragged the last three generations of my family into the mud. And that killed my grandfather, one of my uncles, my father, my mother and two of my brothers. I don´t plan on losing anymore Starks to something that´s beneath them”.

Daenerys smiles and grabs the door handle, but doesn´t turn it.

“It´s a pity it took so long for us to meet, Lady Sansa” she says. Sansa can hear the smile on her voice

“I think we´ll be friends”.

“Hopefully we will”.

She leaves, her army with her, and Sansa stands alone.

Jon Snow stares at her from the door.

“I do see why you choose her Jon” Sansa tells him, as she leaves.

 _I truly do_.


	4. Cold morning.

It´s the weekend.

The cold air engulfs her. She stands next to the river edge, watches she cold, clean water run downstream, disappear forever. She´s surrounded by rain puddles, the clear blue sky above her whispers nothing of the ragging storm that attacked them the night before.

She had slept wonderfully, accompanied by the lullaby that was the rain on her roof and the breaths of her son.

“Please” Eddard called to her “come and play with us”.

Sansa turns to her little boy. He´s playing with Hiccup, his wolf pup. He choose the name because the pup had the hiccups when they went to pick him up. He hasn´t had the hiccups since, but the sound made Eddard giggle. He jumps and runs, his black curls bouncing with him, like puffy clouds, surrounding his pale face.

His blue eyes gleam with the pure joy of childhood.

Sansa now understands why her parents could spend hours watching them.

She´s never seen a more compelling sight.

Eddard runs to her, his pup not far behind.

Sansa smiles as he comes towards her. His curls bounce. His eyes gleam. He smiles at her, not a single care in the world. The park isn´t too cold for him, it isn´t too lonely. It´s just perfect. He´s fully of the north. He knows his lands, her little prince.

She thinks he might look a lot like Robb did at his age. She doesn´t remember, though. They had a 3 year gap, she was barely a babe when he was this age. But from the pictures her mother kept on the house, on her personal office, Eddard is a spitting image of Robb. Except for the hair.

The hair gives him away.

His personality is more like Bran, though. He´s a curious boy, always watching things with gleaming eyes, wondering, silently capturing the world with his pale eyes.

He is silent. too, even solemn.

Sansa thinks he got it from her Father. She won´t give an ounce of Eddard to him.

“Mommy” he asks her, when he reaches her and she picks him up. He´s getting a little big, but no too big for her, never too big “can we go up to the sanctuary?”

He is talking about the bird sanctuary, in the name of the wife of Anton Stark, Gweneth. It´s a hidden gem of the park, one that the Starks have cared for since before Wintertown was even founded.

She´d been there often when she was a child, hand in hand with her mother and Arya. After her marriage with Ramsey, she hadn’t dared approach it, she wouldn´t let him taint that as well. She went there when she found out she was pregnant and wept. She´d gone again after that, and it had become part of her ritual, a way to connect with her mother, to try to become one herself.

They walk up the park, in the muddy road. Hiccup not far behind, Eddard´s little hand in hers. The bird sanctuary is one of Eddard´s favorite places. It´s secluded, with a great view of the city beneath them, the mountains far off, always covered in snow. It´s a small clearing in the middle of the woods that surround the park. As they walk up hill, they meet the old trees that grow next to the dirt road, and a sense of timelessness surrounds them. Even in the middle of the city, they both feel the old north, the old blood that runs through them. It´s in the still air and quietness of a forest full of life. It’s in the silent song that comes from the empty tree branches. Her father had shown her the old magic, and now, she shows her son, north through and through.

Low fog hides the rest of the forest. Still, in the middle of the humid morning, the air is as clear as can be, and Sansa feels clean, pure, free from the weight of the dirt that has been clinging to her since the boy under the snow. They reach the clearing without speaking. Her son doesn´t need to be told about the sanctity of this place. His blood tells him.

_He´ll make a fine lord someday._

_North to the bone._

Eddard lets go of her hand as they walk up to the small clearing. Trees surround them, and  small puddles of cold water, always present, but bigger now after the rain, greet them, reflecting the cold morning air, as they reach the garden.

Sansa watches her son go and goes to sit on a stone bench.

She doesn´t care much for birds right now, has had her fill for a lifetime.

Eddard walks around alone, searching for winter birds. He looks around with big, wide eyes.

Sansa smiles.

The white tree stands tall and alone. Eddard points to it silently. A red bird, a Northern Cardinal runs through its branches, camouflaging in the foliage. Her son smiles.

The trees surrounding the clearing have lost their leaves, the cold light filters through them and creates fantastic shadows on the ground. The garden has an eyrie quality in the lonely morning, like ghosts could just walk up to you from between the trees.

As it turns out, one does.

Jon appears almost suddenly, like the grim reaper himself, dressed in all black and clean shaven.

He looks just like he did when he first visited them back in Winterfell, after only a week on the Nights Watch Army. Her Father had been so proud of him and uncle Benjen had regarded him with the respect one man has for another. Robb had been green with envy.

He approaches her carefully, like one would a skittish animal. He seems so confident. He shouldn´t be.

“Lady Sansa” he calls to her, not aware that Eddard is just a few feet away, watching silently his red bird on a white tree.

_You knew this was going to happen._

_Sooner or later._

_Maybe it´s better this way._

“Eddard” she calls to her son as an answer “come here, there´s someone you should meet”.

She feels Jon´s surprised eyes on her. She doesn´t have time for them.

Eddard walks back to her, eyeing Jon with curious but timid eyes.

He´s not used to strangers.

Sansa stands up, to face Jon on his level. Eddard goes to hide behind her legs, his little hands grasping the fabric from her trousers. She can feel the warmth trough to her skin. She looks down to him and sees him watching Jon warily. He´s clinging to her.

_It had to happen._

_Sonner or later._

_Let´s just get it over with._

“Eddard, this is your uncle Jon. I told you about him, remember? He was your uncle Robb´s best friend”.

_He was a lot more actually._

_But not anymore._

“I remember” he answers her “he had a white direwolf pup, right? Ghost I think”.

Jon raises his eyebrows in surprise. Sansa watches him, Eddard doesn´t notice.

“He´s not a pup now really, bit of an old guy now” Jon answers him “still sharp and full of energy, though”.

He smiles warmly at Eddard.

Sansa can feel him relaxing behind her.

“I have a pup too. His name is Hiccup, cause he had the hiccups when we adopted him”.

At his name the pup comes running towards them. Eddard goes to pet him. He´s still behind Sansa.

“That´s a great name” Jon says, eyes never leaving Eddard.

The boy looks to Jon, full smile on his face. He´s the first person who´s told him that.

It´s bittersweet.

_That´s enough._

_You´re not meant to hear what comes, my love._

“Darling, your uncle Jon and I have to have some boring grown up talk about party planning, why don´t you go play with Hiccup?”

Eddard looks at her.

Robb´s eyes look at her.

He´s smart for his age. He knows she doesn´t want him to hear them. But he doesn´t argue.

He´ll ask her later.

He always does.

Eddard runs away and Sansa´s eyes turn to Jon. He´s still watching the little boy run around.

“What do you want?” she asks him.

There´s no ice in her voice. She won´t be cold when her son can hear her. With him, she´s not the Lady of Winterfell this morning, she´s not cold, ice itself, she´s just a young mother, protecting her pup.

“I wanted to talk to you, about something”.

A million things rush through her head. Possible answers. Ropes to throw him. She knows Arya misses him dearly. So does Bran, in his way. Hell, he even was friends with Gendry.

Still.

_He made his bed, let him lie in it._

“Maybe I don´t want to talk to you”. He looks at her, his eyes sunken, lips chapped and his skin pale in the cold morning. Sansa knew from the look of him what he had been doing the night before.

_He´s been drinking again._

“Sansa, please”. He looks tired. Oh so tired, like the world is heavy on his shoulders, pushing him deeper and deeper into a darkness she knows he likes to sink into, where he thinks he belongs.

He looks at her with exhausted eyes. Pleading. He´s drained, but not like he did when they were at his beach house, white clouds and clean light falling on his dark curls as he regarded her with reverence.

If they were in another world, in another time, she would hug him.

She longs to, even know, but what done is done.

“There is nothing left for us to talk about Jon. Deeds speak louder than words, you left. It´s done. Now the only thing that concerns both of us are the bodies lying in my morgue”.

He looks to the ground. Silence falls on them. The sound of the morning have vanished, she feels the cold creep on her, sink it´s teeth into her bones. She fights the urge to shudder.

“It´s not her, it never will be her. It wasn´t Ygritte either. She knows it, I know it and you do. It´s you. It´s always you and it will always be you”.

He leaves her, alone next to the bench and walks aways.

Not far from her. Birds starting to sing, city sounds rise towards her. She can see him walking away from her, can see other´s people footprints on the mud and far off, the tired walk of one of the grounds keeper.

Yet, she hasn´t felt this alone in a long while.

 _Please,_ she wants to scream at him, _please stop lying_.

_Please stop hurting me._

*

The little book is opened before her, her grey pen is in her hand, again. She´s getting really tired of the sight before her.

Bran sits opposite her.

He regards her calmly.

“Continue please” she asks him softly.

Somehow, in spite of being four years older than her brother, she still feels like a little girl who got in trouble when he watches her. She supposes it has something to do with the title of _Professor_ and the _Doctorate_. She wonders if he had a course on it or if looking like he knows everything just comes naturally to him.

“She was fifteen the first time she got arrested. She got a conviction that stuck when she was seventeen. Got trialled like and adult. She´d been recently released from her last charge for prostitution. She´d spent five years inside”.

Sansa writes it down neatly. 

_Now the worst part._

“And her childhood?”

“Foster kid, neighbor called child services when her father offered her as payment for the month´s rent to the landlord. It was after he had agreed. It´s probable he abused her too, if I had to guess, I would say she was bipolar, non-diagnosed and with a tendency to go for men like her father”.

_She never stood a chance._

She writes her final notes. Her name is prettily written on top, next to the most important facts of her life and two dates. When it began. When it ended.

It´s the eight person she´s written in the notebook this week.

_Wildfire is spreading fast._

_And with the cold, it´ll only get worse._

She closes the black book and caps the pen.

Bran watches her, long hair and short beard. He looks immensely old and young at the same time.

She wonders what happened to the boy that used to climbed walls.

_Did he kill him like I killed the singing girl?_

“Sansa” he says to her “there is something that was sent to you. Arya and I opened it, because we were worried”.

He hands her an envelope.

It´s addressed to her alright.

_Mrs. Sansa Bolton of Winterfell._

She opens it with calm, cold hands.

_You must be like iron under pressure. One wrong move and everything you love can be taken from you._

It´s a printed paper, ordinary, no more of a threat to her than the recipes she keeps in her kitchen. The black words against the white background stare at her.

**I know what you did to your husband.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooo!!! I´m baaack, after a looong fight with the semester, I´m done and on winter vacation. I´ll try to finish this fic in this month. Thank you so much for waiting, hope you like it and please comment!=)


	5. The darkness.

_He can finally breathe hours later. Many hours later._

_They´re on the cottage, far away from everything. The sun has already crept over the mountains, but it´s still early. The town hasn´t woken up, the world is lazily stretching itself, preparing for a new day._

_Exhaustion hits him hard. Hard than it has in a lot of time. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the closet door_.

Steady yourself Snow, you have five moments to collect yourself.

One. His mother sings to him, he’s three years old, he thinks. They´re both on the bed, she has her arms around him, she smells like jasmine and he feels how her chest rises as she sings to him in the old tongue, the words of their ancestors. He doesn´t understand a word of what she´s saying. He sings along with her. 

Two. He´s playing on the snow with Robb and little Arya. He´s barely eleven years old, throws a well-built snowball and it lands perfectly on Robb´s forehead and he falls back. Arya giggles, the purest sound he´s ever heard.

Three. He´s been accepted to the academy. Uncle Eddard takes the whole family to dinner. Robb sits next him, he can see how he´s a little jealous of him when Benjen tells stories about his time in the academy. Next to Robb, Arya fights silently with Bran for the last piece of bread. Sansa scolds Rickon when he wipes his mouth on the white tablecloth. Nothing matters, Catelyn and Eddard look at him, both filled with pride. He smiles at them.

Four. He and Sam are cleaning the armory. It´s a big old building, it´s snowing outside and there´s only one old gas heater for the 200 square meters of building. They´re both shivering, but Jon accidentally knocks his bucket and water spills everywhere. Sam´s laughter echoes on the walls. He laughs with wrinkles on his eyes.

Five. She stands before him, and he thanks the old gods and the new that she´s still alive. Because he´s no longer alone, she´s there, no matter what. He wants to hug her, hold her in his arms, even if growing up they weren´t the closest, she´s the only family he has left now, and seeing her alive relieves him so much he feels dizzy.

_He opens his eyes, grabs the cleanest towel he finds and walks back to the bathroom._

_He enters, knocking to announce himself. He doesn't want to invade her privacy, not after all she´s been through._

_She's still sitting at the tub, soaking in cooling water. Her bright red hair surrounds her like a cape, she wears it longer than he remembered, still shiny and Jon knows that if he touched it, it would still be silky as always. The water around her is no longer transparent. The blood on her has started to mix with it, but she still has dry blood on her naked body. Jon sighs deeply. The last time he saw red hair and blood it didn't end very well._

_He approaches her softly, wets the towel and puts soap on her back. He doesn’t even know how she got blood on her back. He wets her back and slowly, softly starts scrubbing her. The scars and marks appear before him and he can't help the tightening of his hand._

_Sansa feels it, but she doesn´t tense under his touch, if anything, she seems to relax into him._

_"Those are old" she says, voice sure and clear "I got them when I was at king's Landing, Joffrey had one of his men beat me, he pushed me and I fell back first into a glass table. It shattered. The bite marks and the fresh cuts are from Ramsey, he liked to mark people"._

_Jon closes his eyes and breaths, trying to steady himself._

You could´ve been there.

You could´ve gone to her sooner.

_Jon finishes cleaning her back and goes to clean the towel in the sink. He rinses Ramsay's blood of the rag. It's not the first time he has cleaned blood, it won't be the last time either, that he can promise. He turns to get back to business and sees her looking at him._

_She´s standing now, hair plastered to her body, pale skin glistening, still stained with blood and with little droplets of water running down her body. She has more bite marks, cuts and bruises. Her skin is marked by her story, like his is, but she didn´t choose it. It´s just a recollection of all the mistreatment she has suffered. She´s still beautiful though, and a part of him feels perverted for noticing the beauty of the nakedness of the girl he grew up with, when she marks of her abuse are still fresh._

_She notices him watching._

_“Don´t” she tells him, eyes kind on his._

_She looks so fucking beautiful, just he imagined a goddess would look like. Wild, fierce, powerful._

_“Don´t look at me like that. Don´t pity me. I like my scars, they are my trophies, my rewards for outliving the men that did this to me. They´re dead, forgotten and I´m still here, unbroken by them. Don´t look at me like a beaten girl, I´m not. These marks are for me, and I won’t let them become a monument to the cruelness of the men I outsmarted. These scars on my skin are a symbol of my strength, they are mine to carry and mine to honor. They don´t tarnish or hurt me, they give me strength”._

No, _he agrees with he_ r, they make you the most beautiful woman on the world.

_He knows the hunger that begins to build in him. He knows the craving her naked body is causing in his mind. He knows it´s wrong, but he can´t help it._

_With her he never could._

_“Sansa” he whispers, barely audible._

_She walks to him, he watches the droops of water travel further down her body, mesmerized by her._

_He´s suddenly transported to his whole childhood._

He´s twelve and she´s ten and they´re all playing football. It´s him and her versus Arya and Robb. She scores a goal and turns to him, hugs him tightly and kisses him on the cheek. No girl has ever done that to him.

He´s sixteen and freaking out in the kitchen because it´s the first time he´s ever gotten drunk and Robb is busy with some girl, Theon is still drinking and he fears Uncle Ned and  Aunt Cat will kick him out if they find out. She comes in, turns on the light and with just one look, makes him drink three glasses of water, a warm tea and prepares him grilled cheese sandwiches.

He´s eighteen, sitting on the roof, about to ship out to the academy and all of his doubts are hitting him hard. He hears a sound and suddenly she´s next to him. He looks into her eyes, usually clear blue sky, are now navy blue. He has never seen her like this. She kneels before him. She kisses him slowly, giving him time to pull away.

_He wasn´t prepared for it then, he isn´t now either. But her lips are warm and soft on his. So he answers in turn, because he didn´t do it before and he´s just catching up now, he´s always catching up with her._

_He drops the towel and presses her to him. She´s just as tall as him now, he presses her body into his, feels how her warm flesh lights a fire on him. She can feel his need for her, his hunger, she answers in turn._

_He needs her now, always has and always will._

_She wraps her hands around her neck and he hoists her up. Her body sings to him, and he can´t figure out how he ever managed to live with out her. She´s fresh air, cold water, warm fire._

_She´s everything he needs and more._

_She gasps when he first touches her. He doesn´t think he´s ever heard something so beautiful._

_He sits her on the sink. She looks at him half surprised._

_He kisses her again before sinking to his knees._

_Her legs part for him._

_He´s lost._

_He can´t bring himself to care._

***

He sits in the dark, glass in hand, wreckage all around him. The light from the streetlamp enters the room distorted, the heavy rain falling over King´s Landing changing the light´s path. His shadow comes distorted, and in the middle of the destruction he caused, he remembers the terrible stories that he learned about his ancestor, about the man that carried his real name. The broken glasses, the upturned chair, the shattered mirror and crushed lamp he smashed against the wall judge him.

Accuse him.

Jon drinks the whiskey from the bottle. Her image burned on his eyelids. How she looked after they were done, naked, beautiful and proud, fierce eyes on him, how she looked talking about the Stark story, proud, elegant and regal, how she looked after he told her the truth, broken down, tired and hurt.

He´d promised her he wouldn´t let anyone hurt her. He hadn´t realized it would be him.

Tyrion enters the room and turn on the light.

He shuts his eyes. 

"I had the lights off for a reason, you know"

He can hear Tyrion walking towards him

“Gods, Snow” he says tiredly, like the sight of the destruction he caused isn´t surprising “I thought we were over this”.

He opens his eyes. Tyrion is standing in front of him.

_I thought so too._

_I thought I was over my tantrums._

_Then I saw both of them together._

He pushes the thought of Eddard away. He doesn´t like to think too much about the boy, _his boy_. It remind him too much of his own father.

“Remind me to have my therapist give you a call” Tyrion says coming closer to him.

“I don´t like therapists” Jon answers, taking another gulp of whiskey.

Tyrion eyes him warily.

“Yeah, like I haven´t heard that before. I´m sure this whole brooding in the dark is a perfectly healthy way to resolve your issues” he answers “anyway, this envelope came and I also got a call from your adoptive sister, I have her on my phone now, she insisted I came right away”.

He shows him a white, small envelope, but Jon is more worried about the call.

_I´m in no state to talk to her now._

_I never am._

“So how about I hand you my phone and the envelope and you give me that bottle”.

Jon hands him the bottle and takes a breath before taking the phone and putting on his ear.

_Steady yourself Snow, you have five moments to collect yourself._

He doesn´t get to count them.

“Jon” comes Arya´s voice through the phone “Tyrion said you received something. Is it a white envelope?”

It´s been a while since he talked to Arya. She´s different and the same, no time for bullshit.

“Yeah”.

“Open it, now” she says, voice calm and commanding “and tell me what´s inside”.

He looks to Tyrion, but he just shrugs and turns to leave. He takes the bottle with him “I really don’t care about your family drama Snow, I had enough with my mine for a life time”.

He walks away and Jon waits until he´s out of the room to answer Arya.

_It can´t be her hair, it´s coarser and more opaque than hers. It´s also brighter, closer to blonde than her auburn hair._

He knows, he spent a lot of time studying her hair when they were alone, after she was done and he could only marvel that she would allow him to worship her.

“Jon” Arya says on the phone.

“It´s a strand of red hair”.

“Shit”.

He hears her talk to someone else. She waits for an answer, then replies and comes back to the phone.

He wonders who she talked to.

“Jon you need to come up North. Sansa is calling for a pack meeting tomorrow on Winterfell at the witching hour”.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this chapter! I had it written but i didnt like it so i re wrote it and had some fixing to do before i like how it came. Anyways, hope you like it and please comment!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so I while ago I posted this, orphaned it because I didn´t know what to do with it, now I do know, so here it is. Hope you like it and please comment!!!


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